m the shore,
recede by degrees, and with their undulating graceful outlines, become a
charming background. Wicklow Head drops quietly out of the landscape,
and Howth to the north, and Bray Head to the south, now become the bold
gigantic flanking towers of what is more strictly regarded as Dublin
Bay. The traveller's eyes, beaming with enjoyment, survey the fine
perpendicular rock of Bray Head, with the railway marking a thin line
upon its side nearly midway above the sea, and almost suspended over it.
And then there is that beautiful cone, the Sugarloaf mountain; further
still away, the loftier Djous, overhanging a dark, misty valley, which
marks the spot where the waters of Powerscourt tumble down the rock a
height of three hundred feet; on, on across the Dublin range to
Montpelier, the valley of the Liffey, the city--notable to the
north-west by its dusky-brown atmosphere; then the historic plains of
Clontarf; Howth once again, and the panorama is complete. But he nears
the shore rapidly, and the harbour grows more distinct, Kingstown,
rising from it with its terraces, and spires, and towers, looking
important and aristocratic. The rich and varied fringe of gardens, and
lawns, and villas from Dalkey to Seapoint, mark at once the fashionable
watering-place; whilst Dalkey Castle, standing over the great
precipitous quarry from which Kingstown harbour was built, and the
Obelisk on Killiney Hill indicate points from which commanding views
can be obtained.

The morrow, and let us suppose the tourist ascends to the massive but
friendly gate which admits to that same Obelisk hill. Was ever such an
ascent open to him before? The broad, winding avenue, literally carpeted
with its firm green satin sward, defined by a belt of graceful planting
at either side, whilst in nooks and cozy places are inviting seats for
the weak and weary to rest awhile, and gain breath to enable them to
pursue their journey upwards. The Obelisk, as it is called, stands on
the highest point; the view from it on every side is unrivalled for
beauty--the sublime it has not--but the beautiful is perfect. The
mountains, which yesterday morning at sea, gave the first glimmering
indication of the Irish coast, assume new shapes, and are thrown into
new combinations. Inland, the landscape stretches on till it touches the
sky in all directions except where the mountains intervene. Looking
north, over the flat plain of Clontarf, he beholds the lofty Mourne
range